


Peaches and Coffee

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brian and I share a deep love of pie, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Pies galore oh my god, and Jimmy is going to reap the benefits, the one where Hannibal mixes with Pushing Daisies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian has a talent for pie-baking, and Jimmy wants to get in on the action</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peaches and Coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jay Auris (nighthawkms)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/gifts).



It had been too long since Brian had last baked a pie. 

Years ago, when he had been a kid, he and his mom were always making pie for his dad and siblings. Apple, pumpkin, blueberry, lemon meringue, the pantry was always full, an eclectic mix of colour. Then came college, and Brian became the go-to-guy if you wanted a slice of home-comfort and pastry just like momma’s. Every weekend, books were put aside in favour of his apron and rolling pin, and his housemates were shouted out of the kitchen, until he came out beaming with pie in each hand. He never charged anything for the pies either, he knew just how important that first bite of sweetly spiced fruit filling was to the freshman missing home or the students cramming for their finals. 

After college came the real world, and for the first year or so baking pie became even more important to Brian. When the first electricity bill came in, he baked a pear and ginger pie with chocolate pastry, and ate it in the bath with bad white wine. The evening he came home to find his girlfriend screwing his neighbour, he sent her packing, and then spent the rest of the night making so many pies he took them to a local bakery the next day to sell. The owner said she had never tasted pie so good. And for every job he didn’t get, yep, he made more pie. Looking back now Brian had no idea how he wasn’t one of those people in those embarrassingly addictive medical documentaries. He could just see his own show now, ‘The 500lb. Man Who Ate 500 Pies’.

It sounded like a really bad idea for a gross-out horror movie. 

Then Brian landed his job at the FBI, and life looked like it was on track at last. The money was coming in, bills could be paid, and hell, Brian even joined a soccer team with some old college friends who still lived in the area. As Brian became more comfortable however, the need to bake began to simmer down, and now whenever he had a day off or a spare five minutes, he was less inclined to crack out the mixing bowls, and more up for going out for a drink. He dated on and off, but since Jen he never baked a pie for his partners. Pie had become his thing and his thing only. 

Which was why now, 41 weeks and 3 days since he and Jimmy had finally got their act together and got together, Brian was surprised to find himself in his kitchen, looking for his old apron. Tying the fraying straps around his middle, Brian considered taking the apron off again and going back to bed. After all, 8a.m. was a ridiculous time to be up on a Sunday, and Jimmy would be all warm pliancy and lazy kisses this early. But it was too late by now. Brian had that rumble in his stomach that only pie would satisfy, and besides, the more he thought about it as he puttered around the small space collecting ingredients. He would think about letting his partner have pie later. 

What had begun as a simple working relationship between two stead-fast bachelors had soon become a close friendship, complete with banter and flirty innuendo. Brian had loved it, loved making Jimmy laugh and Bev roll her eyes at their jokes, and he looked forward to working by Jimmy’s side every single day. They could be in the midst of a gut-churning autopsy, and out of nowhere Jimmy would make some quip and have Brian chuckling into his elbow whilst Jack glared holes into his skull. Somehow, Jimmy had settled into Brian’s life more easily than Brian had himself and their first kiss, a surprise at the time, was actually an eventuality. 

Brian smiled to himself, hands on the counter, contemplating the fruit bowl. Apples were cliché, as were cherries, and he didn’t have any bananas for his grandmother’s orgasm-inducing Banoffee pie. However, what he did seem to have in abundance was peaches. It was strange because Brian couldn’t remember picking them up at the supermarket, but he shrugged and picked up four of the biggest, testing their weight in his hands before setting them down and getting to work on the pastry. 

Rub the butter into the sifted flour, add the water, bring it all together, the method was comforting and familiar, and Brian worked quickly, adding vanilla bean and a dash of essence to the dough. Scattering flour across his worktop, he methodically rolled out the sweet-smelling dough, savouring the give of the pastry and the press of the rolling pin under his hands. Pretty soon the dough was at its correct thickness, so Brian greased up his trusted pie tin, the one given to him from his mother when he left for college, and carefully lined the case. Laying down a sheet of grease-proof parchment, and baking beans, on the bottom of the pie, he placed the tin into a pre-heated oven to bake whilst he began to make his pastry cream. 

As he poured the boiled milk and vanilla into the egg mixture and stirring, a pair of arms slotted around his middle, and a weight settled on his shoulder. Brian smirked. Jimmy had to go up on tiptoes to do be able to rest his chin on Brian’s shoulder, and the thought was frankly too adorable. 

“What are doing up? I thought someone like you would be concerned their beauty sleep.” Jimmy yawned, squeezing Brian in a hug, “If I were you, I’d be plenty concerned.”

“And good morning to you too.” Brian turned his head to kiss Jimmy on the forehead. “I’ve got a moisturizer, so don’t hurt yourself worrying.”

“Thank the lord, my blood pressure is already high enough.” Jimmy joked, peering down at the patissiere in the saucepan, which was beginning to boil sluggishly whilst Brian stirred it. “And what is with the sauce?”

“This is pastry cream, you heathen.” Brian sniffed, nudging the other man out of the way so that he could pour the mixture into a bowl and whisk it more. “It’s for a pie.”

“A pie? I didn’t know you could bake,” Jimmy said. He picked up a peach, skipped away from Brian’s flapping hand, and took a healthy bite out of the plump flesh. 

Brian steadfastly ignored the juice glistening on his lips and shrugged. “Just pies really. I’ve baked since I was a kid. My mom taught me, and since then I haven’t been able to stop.”

Jimmy eyed him curiously, obscenely sucking up another large bite of peach. “I’ve never seen you make any before, Martha Stewart.” he stated, licking juice from his fingers. 

For a moment, Brian stayed quiet, focused on the stirring. He then found cling wrap and spread a layer over the top of the bowl, putting it aside to pull out a chopping board and a fruit knife. 

“I don’t bake pies for other people.”

He peeled the fuzzy skins away from the swollen guts beneath, and deftly sliced the tender flesh, storing them in a clean bowl and checking on his pastry case. It was a crisp, golden brown colour, flat on the bottom, and Brian knew that if he chose to look underneath the pastry would be perfectly cooked. Of course he had been doing this for so long he wouldn’t need to. Popping the case from the tin, he played a careful balancing act as he pulled out a container, placing the pastry shell onto the bottom of it to cool. As he wandered over to refrigerator and selected the cream, he realised that Jimmy hadn’t responded. 

He glanced over at the over man, who was unusually silent. “You alright there Jimbo?” Jimmy hated the nickname, and Brian hoped to get a rise but instead got a distracted smile. 

“Of course I am.” Jimmy went over to the coffee maker to begin preparations for the morning cup of Joe. 

Brian watched him as he whipped the cream, adding cinnamon and sugar for his take on a Chantilly cream. It wasn’t like Jimmy to brush Brian off like that, and it unsettled him, before he decided to focus on constructing the pie. It was nice being able to piece something together for a change, rather than taking something all apart. 

He layered the patissiere, and then the peach slices, before applying a healthy dollop of cream to the middle of the pie. Beaming, Brian cut two large slices and put them on plates, exchanging one for the cup of coffee Jimmy offered in return. 

They sat at the kitchen table, and Brian immediately tucked in, groaning around his mouthful. The peaches and custard paired beautifully together, the cinnamon cream adding that savoury touch to tone down the overall sweetness, and the pastry was the best that Brian had made in a while. He grinned, spooning up another bite. Just as he was about to pop it into his mouth though, he noticed that Jimmy hadn’t tried his slice. He was just sat there, sipping his coffee, and staring at the slice innocently taking up space on the plate. 

Brian frowned. 

Never, ever, had anyone not at least tried his pie. 

Hell, this particular pie had won awards. 

He took another, not-at-all-subtle, bite and made enthusiastic chewing noises. “Now, _that_ is good pie. Even if I do say so myself.”

No response. Brian was just about to ask what on earth was going on, he had left himself wide open for playful jibes, when Jimmy beat him to it. 

“I have a confession to make.”

Brian blinked. “What?”

Jimmy flushed with embarrassment, poking at his pie with his fork. “I knew you could bake.”

“Um, okay? Good for you?”

“I spoke to your mother.”

The silence after that little announcement was thicker than the pastry cream.

“Oh.” Brian said finally, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “When?”

“I told you she called last week.” Jimmy answered. “I just neglected to mention one of the topics of conversation.”

“Ah. And that would be?” Brian prompted, and it was though he had unlocked some dark, terrible secret because it all came pouring out in a rush. 

“Well, she did ask whether we’d be coming over for Thanksgiving, so I said yes but I would check with you. And then she said, ‘ _well, if are you are, ask Brian to make his pumpkin pie_ ’ because apparently it’s your sister’s favourite.” 

Brian nodded and Jimmy continued. “So I said, ‘ _oh, I didn’t know that Brian could make pumpkin pie_ ’, and your mom laughed and said, ‘ _honey, not just pumpkin pie, that boy can make every pie_!’” 

Brian made a mental note to have a talk with his mother. 

“And then she asked ‘ _has he never baked you a pie before_?’ so I said that you hadn’t. And then she went kind of quiet, before saying she wondered if you would or not, and she explained about you and pies. And your ex, Gemma was it, and how after that debacle you never baked for anyone but you and the family.” 

He took a sip of coffee. “We chatted a bit after that, then she hung up and I got thinking. We have such a wonderful thing going, and it’s not stopping anytime soon, so why wouldn’t you make me a pie? But, I didn’t want to put you off by asking outright, so I thought, _I’ll get him to make me a pie somehow_.”

“But, you never asked,” Brian said slowly, an uncomfortable sinking feeling beginning to twist in his gut when the other man wouldn’t meet his eye. “Jimmy? What did you do?”

“I . . . I may have . . . influenced your decision to bake a pie.”

“How?” Brian didn’t mean to sound brusque, but the words came out harsh anyway.

It made Jimmy jump in his seat a little. “I may have, you know, given you hints that I wanted pie.”

And suddenly Brian remembered seemingly mundane events from the past week. Jimmy choosing pie at the diner when they went out to eat, and Jimmy turning on baking shows when they collapsed on the sofa after work. Jimmy had bought a new apple and cinnamon candle for their bedroom that smelled like his mother’s kitchen. He remembered Jimmy putting the peaches in the shopping cart, mentioning they were his favourite fruit in desserts. As these images, and more, came flooding back to him, Jimmy carried on explaining. 

“So then when I came down today I was so excited! Here you were, doing that cutsie couples thing and picking up on my signals, and you were baking me a pie. My favourite, might I add.” He glanced gratefully over at Brian. “But then you said you don’t bake for other people, and I just felt awful. I know how much baking pies means to you, and there I was manipulating you.” Jimmy deflated in his seat and shovelled a forkful of pie into his mouth. “And it tastes so good as well,” he stated gloomily.

Brian watched him eat the pie, his bites becoming more and more enthusiastic. He listened to his little hums of appreciation, and saw the quirk of his lips, despite his obvious guilt. 

It was then that Brian remembered why he made pie for other people. Through pie he was able to express emotions that his words could not explain. Dark, spiced plum pies for when he was pissed off at the world, pecan pies with a salted caramel drizzle for when he and his friends missed home during holidays. He had made these pies, and shared them, so that others could understand what was going on in his head. 

And now, he had just made Jimmy’s favourite pie without even really realising. Somehow, he must have remembered Jimmy mentioning that peaches were his favourite, and a story he had told Brian months ago about how much loved his mom’s peach cobbler. Because she made it for him as a special treat. That it made him feel loved. Brian could have chosen any other fruit, they had plenty of it, but no. He had chosen to use Jimmy’s favourite fruit to show him that he loved him.

He smiled, and began to chuckle. Jimmy looked at him in surprise, cream left on his lip. Brian reached over and kissed it off, sitting back only a little and taking Jimmy’s hands in his. 

“Other people.”

“What?” Jimmy asked, looking confused. 

“Earlier, I said I don’t make pies for other people.” Brian kissed Jimmy softly, tasting peaches and cinnamon, sweet, southern comfort. He pulled away and popped another bite of pie into his mouth. “You aren’t other people.” 

Jimmy beamed at him and Brian grinned back, moving to take the empty plates over to the sink. 

“Does this mean you’re making me pies regularly now?” Jimmy asked, finishing his coffee and making motions to drink Brian’s. 

“Nope.”

“What the hell? You just said –” 

“Yeah, but the doctor also said you have to watch your cholesterol, old man. So no weekly pies!” Brian teased, laughing when Jimmy grumbled into his mug. “You’re just going to have to wait until Thanksgiving like everybody else.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my God I've got a toothache after writing this!! But it's my first ever Preller fic so enjoy :)
> 
> This is un-beta'd this time, so I apologise for any errors, but I am gifting this to the truly amazing Jay Auris (Nighthawkms). I hope things get better soon sweetheart, and I'm always here for you xxx
> 
> Find me on tumblr at happily-obsessing-about-chilton.tumblr.com :)
> 
> And thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Don't hesitate to leave a comment or review xxx


End file.
